Marmion.

Three weeks followed after the events recorded, without the occurrence of anything deserving special mention. The life of the colonists went on as usual, in erecting new tenements, in cultivating their farms, and in such other occupations as their situation made necessary. But little was seen of the Knight in the settlement, it being understood that he was amusing himself as usual in the sports of the forest. He did occasionally, however, make his appearance in the village, in the prosperity of which he manifested an interest. Notwithstanding the slighting manner in which he had spoken of Arundel, and the displeasure of Spikeman at the favor which he showed the young man, his conduct toward him remained unchanged. As before, Arundel was frequently at Sir Christopher's place, and often accompanied him on short expeditions, though never on distant excursions, which required several days.

The interest of the young man in the Knight increased daily. Sir Christopher's manners were so gracious, his temper so sweet and equable, and the sentiments he expressed so noble, that it was impossible an ingenuous youth should escape their fascination. Yet did Arundei fancy that the attachment which he felt was hardly returned. It might be a mere fancy springing from a jealous sensitiveness, which is disappointed if it be not paid in the full measure of its own coin. Perhaps the inexperienced youth was unreasonable in expecting from his senior, schooled to greater caution by intercourse with the world, the demonstrativeness which characterized his own conduct. Be it as it may, upon more acquaintance, the Knight seemed to his young friend to resemble nothing so much as a polished rapier, which, while it shines to the eye, is cold to the touch. Of the pale lady Geraldine he saw little. He had noticed accidentally a circumstance in reference to her, for which he was unable to account. Having arrived late one afternoon at the residence of the Knight, he found, upon inquiring after him, that he had been absent several days, and was not expected to return for two or three more. Arundel then asked to see the lady, but was answered that she was confined sick to her room and unable to receive any one. Late as it was, for the sun was setting, he was preparing to return to the settlement, when he heard sounding from the edge of the forest the Knight's hunting horn. He stepped to the outer door, and beheld Sir Christopher advancing with the lady.

The former was habited in his usual hunting gear, while the dress of the lady Geraldine consisted of an over-coat of dark cloth, falling just below the knee, fitting tightly about the chest, and rising high into the neck. On her feet were moccasins, of the natural russet shade of the leather, laced up the calf of the leg, so that they nearly reached the skirt, and on her head she wore a black leather cap, ornamented with an ostrich's feather, beneath the protection of which her hair fell down in plaits upon her back. The dress was a mixture of the civilized and of the savage, and as she approached, with a little color in her cheeks, occasioned by the exercise, Arundel thought that she looked even beautiful. Her manner appeared to him to betray confusion, but there was no embarrassment on the part of the Knight. He welcomed his visitor with his customary politeness, merely inquiring how long it was since he had arrived, adding, that his cousin had been persuaded to accompany him on a hunting expedition, for the sake of her health, which would account for the disorder of his house. The two were accompanied by several natives, among whom was the little girl; but their hunt it would seem had been unsuccessful, for they had not much game. A falsehood had been told by the domestic, evidently to conceal the absence of the lady, which Arundel could explain only on the supposition that it was designed to mislead others and not himself, and was said to him only because the servant was unable to discriminate.

In spite of the vigilance of Spikeman, Arundel, aided by the cunning of Prudence, and the connivance of the Assistant's wife, had two or three times seen Eveline; and the lovers, with protestations of eternal fidelity, encouraged each other to look forward to happier days. Philip Joy too, though in disobedience to the orders of the Knight, who had strictly commanded him not to put foot upon the soil under the jurisdiction of Winthrop, continued to keep up a communication with his mistress. Pretty Prudence, like a beleaguered city hard bested, kept the enemy Spikeman at bay; nor did he, with all his parallels and circumvallations, make any progress. Not so, however, thought the Assistant, (for what man cannot the cunning of a coquette deceive?) who every once in a while fancied the fortress was about to capitulate. Whenever he began to despair, a few sweet smiles, or a word of encouragement, were sufficient to re-kindle hope; for though the girl hated him, she yet took a mischievous pleasure in practising her caprices on him, and keeping him dangling at her apron strings.

Such was the state of things, when one morning a canoe was seen entering the harbor of Boston, containing a couple of Indians. They paddled directly up to the wharf, where several persons were standing, looking on, while others were engaged in various employments connected with commerce, and sedately stepping on shore, one of them hauled the canoe upon the beach, beyond the rising of the tide. This being done, they advanced in the direction of the group of white men. The one who was evidently the leader, as well from his walking first, (the other stepping in his track,) as well as from the superior richness of his dress, which was the skin of a moose loosely disposed over his shoulders as a robe, and that of a deer divested of its hair, beautifully tanned, and painted in bright colors, for a breech cloth, with the feathers of some bird in his scalp lock; while the garments of his follower were merely deer skins dressed with the hair; pronounced, as soon as they came within about a rod of the white men, the single word "Taranteen," and then both stopped. So similar were the dress and general appearance of the Indian tribes to one another, that the eye alone would have been insufficient to detect a difference; but the utterance of the word indicated at once to which one the new comers belonged, and their desire to have it immediately understood. Various questions were now asked by the curious, who thronged around the savages, but no answer was returned save the word Taranteen, and some words that sounded like an attempt at French.

The gallant Captain Sparhawk, who, to judge from the part he took in the conversation, and the emphasis wherewith he expressed his opinions, was the principal personage present, having exhausted his stock of Spanish, and German, and French phrases which he had picked up in his trading voyages, as well as sundry uncouth sounds it was his pleasure to call Indian, in a vain attempt to make himself understood, at last decided that the only proper course was to take them before the Governor. At the mention of Winthrop's name, the Indian's face was lighted up with a look of intelligence, and he made a motion With his head as though he knew for whom it was intended.

"Do ye see now, my hearties," cried the gratified Captain, "the ignorant beggar understands me after all. I mistrusted, from the beginning, that he was only playing 'possum, as they say down in Virginny. For look ye, ye lubbers, it would be strange if a man who has been buen' camarada with the Spaniard, and guter Gesell with the Dutchman, and parleywood with Mounseer, and made the weight of his ship in gold for his owners, out of these here salvages, shouldn't be able to speak their gibberish. It's not so hard after all, do ye see, when one gets the weather guage of it. But here, some o' ye, gallivant the red skins up to the Governor, (a good enough fellow in his way, I dare say, if he were not so d——d hard on drinking healths,) with my compliments, with the compliments of Capt. Sparhawk, (do ye hear?) and let him know how they drifted ashore. And hark ye, if he should be inclined to a little agreeable conversation with the tanned hides, just let him send me an invitation, and I shall be happy to officiate as interpreter. Heave ahead, Bill Pantry, and take command of the squad. You've been long enough under my command to know how to do the honors in a gentlemanly way."

Accordingly Bill Pantry, in obedience to the Orders of his Captain, which seemed to the bystanders the most sensible suggestion, took possession of the Indians, and escorted them to the Governor's house.

It so happened, by an accident, that the invaluable services of Capt. Sparhawk, as a linguist, were not needed on the occasion, for upon the strangers being announced by one of the soldiers on guard at the door, the Knight of the Golden Melice was found to be with Winthrop.

As the Indians entered the room, Winthrop rose, and with great urbanity, offered his hand to him who appeared to be the principal. To his astonishment, however, the Taranteen extended not his own.

"How is this?" exclaimed Winthrop. "Is this intentional discourtesy, or are ye ignorant of the customs of the English?"

Hereupon the principal Indian uttered a sentence or two, unintelligible to Winthrop.

"Thou dost understand the language of the Taranteens, Sir Christopher," he said. "May it please you, who are so happily here, to explain his meaning?"

"He says," replied the Knight, "that he has been sent as a messenger by his nation, and that he hopes you will respect his character."

"Surely," said Winthrop. "How could he imagine the contrary? Who can impeach our faith?"

"You forget," said the Knight, "what suspicions must have been engendered by the unhappy termination of the late embassy."

"It will be difficult to persuade me," said Winthrop, "that it was other than a broil, wherein our people had no part. I cannot be deceived," continued he, waving his hand, observing that Sir Christopher was about to reply, "by the cunning stratagem resorted to, for the purpose of averting suspicion. But a truce with this. Say to him he is as safe as his child, if he has one, in his wigwam. What says he now?" he inquired, after the Knight had interpreted his words, and the Indian replied.

"He asks where are the four companions of Pieskaret."

"Tell him I know not, but suppose they have either returned to their homes, or been destroyed by hostile Indians."

When this was explained, the stately savage sadly smiled, and shook his head. He then spoke again.

"He says," answered the Knight, to the look of Winthrop, "that it is not the custom of Taranteen ambassadors to run away, and that they know how to protect themselves from the Aberginians."

"I protest," said Winthrop, "that, however different my own opinion, I do half believe that these blinded savages in fact imagine their tribes-men were murdered by the whites. To be deplored is it that such an opinion should get footing among them, staining as it doth our good name and pregnant with many possible evils. Assure him, Sir Christopher, of my grief at what has happened; of my sincere desire to discover how Pieskaret lost his life; of what has become of his missing people; and of my readiness, if it can be shown that an Englishman has in anywise connection therewith, to render to the Taranteens perfect satisfaction."

The Indian listened to all this with the deepest attention as it was explained to him, and then replied:

"Pieskaret is gone, and his kindred will see him no more The eyes of his wife are swollen with weeping, and his children, like little birds in the nest, open their mouths for food; but Pieskaret comes not to fill them. His feet were like those of a deer, and his voice like the shouting of the great salt lake on the rocks. Woe is me, for I shall see my brother no more. But he is glad on the happy hunting grounds of brave warriors. It is well with him: we know where he is, but we know not where are our brothers who were with Pieskaret. We know that the English love slaves, and we fear that they have made slaves of our brothers. We will turn away our eyes from the widow of Pieskaret and his little children, and will stop our ears so that we cannot hear their crying, and forget the fate of Pieskaret, if the white chief will return our brothers."

"Alas! unhappy that I am," said Winthrop, "that this new suspicion should fill the minds of the savages. Assure him, upon my faith as a Christian—upon my honor as a gentleman—make the asseveration as solemn as thou canst—that he suspects us falsely."

But the grave chief abandoned not the idea. With eyes searching the countenance of the Governor, he said:

"The Taranteens will give many belts of wampompeag and will heap up their canoes with skins for Owanux, as a ransom for their tribes-men."

"Tell him," said Winthrop, "that, overlooking the insult of doubting my word, if they were to give me belts of wampompeag extending from here to the sun, and skins to cover the ground from Shawmut to his country, I could not restore his tribes-men, for I know nought of them."

"When my brothers came to visit the white chief, they placed themselves in his keeping and feared not the darkness, for they knew that he was very powerful. They slept like a pappoose on its mother's bosom."

"I understand," replied Winthrop, "thou wouldst make me responsible in particular for the misfortune of thy friends; but my conscience reproaches me not If they are dead, it is probably in consequence of their own default; and, I repeat, I believe not that an Englishman had a hand in their destruction."

Here the Taranteen, who acted as spokesman, turning to his companion, uttered a sentence; whereupon the other, feeling in the folds of his deer skin robe, produced a pipe, the bowl of which was made of a reddish clay, into which was inserted, for a stem, a reed beautifully ornamented with black and white shells, and bright colored feathers of various birds. This the orator received from the hands of his follower, and again addressed the Governor:

"The Taranteens are a great nation, and they love peace. It pleases them to see the smoke as it ascends from the calumet. It is more beautiful to their eyes than the white summer clouds which protect them from the heat of the sun. They would be glad to smoke with Owanux, but they cannot do it now, because should they attempt it, the blood of Pieskaret would put out the fire and the groans of his four brothers would agitate us so that the pipe would fall from our hands. I want the white chief to strengthen our hands, so that we can hold the calumet firmly, and perhaps that will satisfy Pieskaret too."

"I understand him," said Winthrop, after the Knight had interpreted, "but let him proceed."

"If the white chief will deliver to us the murderers of Pieskaret, and release our brothers from slavery," said the Taranteen, slowly and impressively, "it is well, and we will smoke with Owanux and forget what has happened; but if he will not,"—and here his voice sounded like the growl of a bear, as, putting his hand into his bosom, he took out a small package and handed it to Winthrop,—"we speak to the white chief thus:"

The Governor received the package, and saw that it consisted of a tomahawk in the centre, around which were placed several small arrows tipped with a red dye, and tied together with the stuffed skin of a rattle-snake, the rattles of which sounded as he took the ominous present into his hand. He waited composedly until the Knight had explained the words, though he comprehended at once the meaning of the savage, and then answered:

"If the Taranteens are a great nation, they are a nation of fools, else why do they not listen to my words? I tell thee a white English chief cannot lie; the Great Spirit will not permit a Christian chief to lie. In vain have I asserted our innocence in this matter; in vain have I expressed sorrow, and humiliated myself to thy reproaches. But the English know how to treat those who, faithless themselves, believe not in the faith of others. Behold!"

Winthrop drew his rapier, and cut the snake skin so that the tomahawk and arrows fell apart. Placing the skin upon a table, he next took up the arrows, and, breaking several at a time, let the pieces drop at his feet. Then seizing the tomahawk, he dashed it with such violence on the hearth of the fire-place, that the handle flew off and the stone head was broken. Lastly, taking down from a nail in the wall whereon they hung, a powder-horn and pouch of bullets, he filled the skin with powder and ball, and held it out to the Taranteen.

"Return now to thy people," he said, looking at the Indian with a stern aspect, "and tell them what thou hast seen and heard. Tell them that, though the English love peace, they fear not war. Tell them that we have never wronged the Taranteens by word or deed, nor is it our intention now to punish them for their injurious suspicions. But tell them, also that, as I have broken their arrows and dashed their war-axe, in pieces, so will I serve them, if the north-wind brings to my ears a whisper of evil designs from them. And as I have stuffed the snake skin with powder and ball, so will I fill their bodies with the same. Return."

As Winthrop uttered these words with a firm voice and imposing manner—words so explained by his actions that they needed no interpretation—he was confronted by the Taranteen with a dignity equal to his own. The demeanor of the savage was as calm as if he were smoking a pipe in his wigwam. He quietly followed every motion with his eyes, listened with all attention, as if he understood what was said, and, when Winthrop had concluded, took the loaded skin and handed it to his follower. The inferior Indian shrunk as he received the portentous powder and shot in their strange envelope, but whatever apprehensions he felt, he succeeded in conquering them, taking care however to hold the missive at a little distance from his person.

"Tender now our hospitality," said Winthrop to the Knight, "so long as they remain among us."

"But the Taranteens showed no disposition to accept the offer. Something was growled by the principal one, which Sir Christopher interpreted to intimate a desire to depart.

"Be it so," replied Winthrop. "Moulton," he added, calling a soldier, "take with you Gamlyn, and escort these savages with all civility to their canoes. And should they desire anything to promote the comfort of their return, let it be furnished and placed to my account."

The orders of the Governor were explained to the Indians by the Knight, and they left the room in the care of the soldiers.

"Sir Christopher," said Winthrop, on their departure, "this is a miserable coil. Now will these misguided savages, instigated I doubt not by the emissaries of Rome, soon be yelling upon our borders, and seeking to imbrue their hands in our blood. Were we dealing only with the natives, there might be some hope of soothing their ferocity and averting an outbreak of their insane rage; but nothing can be done with the Jesuit—more subtle than the serpent, more fell than the Hyrcanian tiger."

"Have the disciples of Loyola penetrated to this fierce tribe?" inquired Sir Christopher.

"Art thou ignorant that the cunning father Le Jeune, the daring Brebeuf, and I know not what instigators of mischief besides, are said to be among them? Pity is it truly that so much learning and so great zeal should be expended in so bad a cause."

"It was known before I left England that these men had made some little progress among the natives in Southern America, where gold and silver abound; but who would have looked for them in these colder and comparatively inhospitable regions? May there not be some error in this matter, and our fears of the dreaded Order have converted interested and malignant traders into members of the so-styled Company of Jesus?"

"It may be so, for our information is not so accurate as I wish; but this we do know, that a strange activity hath of late manifested itself in the movements of these foul conspirators, against uncorrupted Christianity the world over; and only a short time since was it that godly Mr. Eliot discovered, on the neck of a squaw, one of their brass idols made into the image of the Crucified, which, in righteous indignation, he took away from the woman. Deluded and deluding, alas, if they have found their way into this land!"

"It is not necessary to suppose the presence of any member of the Company of Jesus, in order to account for the image on the neck of the Indian woman. The French traders are Catholics, and one of them might have given it to her."

"True; yet doth my jealous mind connect these men with every perversion and corruption of Gospel truth. They are at this moment as well the plotting mind as the executing arm of the rotten Church of Rome. The spirit of Loyola would seem lately to have left Hades, to animate his followers upon earth. Be sure, Sir Christopher, that where error and mischief are, there is the Jesuit."

"It is ever a consolation," said the Knight, devoutly, "and in especial in these troublous times, that the Founder of the Church hath promised to be with her to the end of the world, and that the gates of hell shall not prevail against her."

"If they have stolen among the innocent natives to intercept that knowledge of divine truth which it is our purpose to impart, we will, by God's grace, defeat their designs and bring to naught their inventions. In this Christian work it may be my desire to engage your services, Sir Christopher."

"It needs not that I should make protestations of zeal, or offers of my poor self; yet do my feelings prompt me to say that my badge 'the honey-bee,' is not more diligent in collecting his precious store than I will be in such a cause."

"Then expect to have thy zeal and courage put to the test. Should I request thee to visit the Taranteens in their own country, what would be thy reply?"

The Knight paused, as if the question was of importance sufficient to require consideration, so long, indeed, that Winthrop thought it proper to resume.

"I know," he said, "that it is a service not unattended with danger; yet did danger never frighten a noble soul, but doth ever act as an incentive. There is no one save thyself well acquainted with the tongue of these savages, (Mr. Eliot's knowledge thereof, I observe, is imperfect, and he is in other respects but poorly qualified for the enterprise), and who would be able to make the impression upon them and obtain the information which I desire."

"Disclose more perfectly your wishes, right worshipful sir," said Sir Christopher.

"I call thee to a danger which, possessed I thy marvellous skill in languages, I myself would meet. I will unbosom myself. The thought of a conflict with the Taranteens distresses me. It can result only in ruin to them and injury to the budding prospects of our colony. Our interest is peace. We want trade with the natives. We want their confidence. Without the latter there can be no trade, neither can we counteract the plots of our enemies, nor find opportunity to introduce the Gospel among them. The mysterious calamity which befel the embassy hath sadly shaken my expectations; but I am unwilling to abandon the field. What means are in my power I will apply to restore a good understanding. Moreover, I would be more fully assured of the truth or falsehood of the reports that there are Jesuits among the Taranteens. Where is the man more competent to take upon himself this important trust—one which hath for its object to prevent effusion of blood—to detect the traitorous plots of a wily and deadly foe, and to advance the cause of unadulterated religion, than thyself?"

The Knight bowed in acknowledgment of the compliment, but said nothing.

"I seem to see the finger of God displayed," continued Winthrop. "For this very purpose wert thou sent among us; yet, noble sir, notwithstanding the importance of the object to be attained and the honor to accrue to him who shall secure them for us, let me not urge thee unreasonably. Seest thou imminent danger in the enterprise, undertake it not. I pray thee, without regarding aught that I have said, to act according to thy better judgment."

"It was through no apprehension of peril that I was silent," said the Knight. "Danger and I have been too long acquainted to distrust one another. I did but turn over in my mind the proper means to accomplish your designs. I place myself at your disposal, and am only rejoiced that (lamenting the occasion) I can be employed in any manner to advance a good work."

"Heartily I thank thee, Sir Christopher, for the cheerful tender of thy service, though it was only what was to be expected from a man of thy chivalric temper. I will take this thing into further consideration, and will shortly acquaint thee with my conclusion."

"And, meanwhile, I will prepare myself to fulfil the wishes of your worship," answered the Knight, preparing to take leave.

"Commend me," said Winthrop, "to the friendly thoughts of Lady Geraldine, with sincerest hopes that the peace which surpasseth understanding may nestle into her heart to chase away her melancholy, and may her steps be guided unto the true fold, where only safety is to be found."

"With many thanks," returned the Knight, "I seek my hermitage in the woods."

CHAPTER XVII.

Moore.

Sir Christopher, on leaving the Governor, proceeded in the direction of the hostelry, where he had left his horse; and on his way was greeted with one of those sights to be seen only in this strange commonwealth. It was a woman in the stocks, being no other than an old acquaintance, Dame Bars, the wife of the jailer. The good woman possessed a kind heart, but she was not perfection. She had a weakness for a pot of ale; and, if justice had in anywise been done to the proportion of malt therein, it was very apt to make her eloquent to an extraordinary degree. On these occasions, feeling herself to be clearly in the right, she found it difficult to endure contradiction, considering it excessively unreasonable and rude, and expressing her sentiments thereupon with great freedom. In one of these moods, she had been overheard by Master Prout, in a colloquy with one of her gossips, contrasting the "wearyful and forlorn" condition of women in the colony with the merry times she used to have in England; and upon her friend suggesting a few words in favor of the change, bursting out with sundry epithets more sounding than musical, and more energetic than complimentary.

We will not pretend to say whether Master Prout was more scandalized by the sentiment of dissatisfaction at the colony, or by there proaches lavished on the other goody, who, indeed, to do her justice, was not slow in the use of that formidable weapon wherewith Nature, as if to make amends for physical weakness, has armed the lovelier sex. It may be that both combined roused his righteous indignation, in consequence whereof Dame Bars had to expiate the sins of her tongue by silencing its eloquence in a cleft stick, and cooling her heels in the stocks.

But the appearance of the poor woman was now anything but belligerent. So far from manifesting a refractory disposition, her face was covered with her hands, and tears of shame and mortification were stealing through the fingers. Her husband was standing by her side, and endeavoring to comfort her, while Master Prout, with his long staff, was threatening some idle school-boys, who, with the mischief natural to their age, were showing an inclination to proceed to extremities against the captive, which was not approved by the grave custode of order.

As the Knight drew nigh, a feeling of pity was excited in him, and he stopped, and addressed some words to the officer of the law.

"I am unwilling," said Master Prout, in reply, "to refuse any thing to a gentleman so highly esteemed by the Governor, as yourself, Sir Christopher, and therefore will I release the woman; but truly was it my intention to detain her an hour or two longer, in order that she might have time for serious and profitable reflection. Verily, as saith James, in his epistle, the tongue can no man tame; it is an unruly evil, full of deadly poison."

"Methinks then," said the Knight, smiling, "thou hast performed an achievement which holy St. James himself might deem a miracle, for the good dame's tongue is tame enough at present."

Master Prout's demure features ventured as near to a smile at the jest, as his principles would permit, and then approaching the woman, he unfastened the stocks, and allowed her to withdraw the imprisoned members.

"Good woman," he said, "thank this noble Knight for thy deliverance, and may this be the last time that these wooden bars shall contract a friendship for thee."

So spoke Master Prout, with a twinkle of the eye at the Knight, on account of the good thing which he fancied he had said, and the woman lost no time in extricating herself from durance. Her face was crimsoned with blushes; she dropped a curtsey to the Knight, and hurried off with her husband.

"Master Prout," said the Knight, as he turned away, "accept my thanks for the courtesy, and believe me that thou hast made me so much thy friend, thou hast only to express a wish, and if it is in my power it shall be granted."

On arriving at the inn, Sir Christopher ordered immediately his horse, and mounting, rode homeward. At a slow pace he proceeded through the streets, and allowed the animal, with the rein lying loose upon his neck, to follow the winding path in the forest. No adventure befel him on his solitary ride, and in due time he reached his home. He was met by Philip Joy, to whom he delivered the horse.

"Is the Indian whom I left in thy charge safe?" he inquired.

"He is, Sir Christopher," answered the soldier.

"Sassacus has not seen him, I trust."

"No one has seen him but myself. I have faithfully followed your orders, and kept him like a rat in a trap. He takes to eating and sleeping prodigious kindly, and has shown no disposition to do any thing else."

"It is natural he should do so, and you have acted with discretion."

With these words Sir Christopher entered the house, and straightway proceeded to find the Indian. He was lying on the floor, apparently asleep, but at the noise of the opening door, roused himself and sat upright.

"How have my people treated Mesandowit in my absence?" inquired the Knight.

"Well," answered the savage. "Mesandowit has eaten, and drank, and slept, and is refreshed."

"Is he ready to return to his own country?"

"Mesandowit is ready."

"When the trees cast long shadows he shall return, and I will go a little distance with him, lest he should meet the Aberginians."

"Good—and now Mesandowit will sleep." He stretched himself again upon the skin, which served for a couch, probably not entirely rested after the long and rapid journey he had made, and disposed himself to slumber. The Knight, on leaving him, went to the door of the lady's apartment, and gently rapped.

It was opened by the Indian girl, and he was immediately admitted.

"Celestina," said the Knight, looking first at her and then at her little attendant, "I have something to say to thee."

"Neebin," said the lady, addressing the child, "may run about in the woods a little while."

When the girl had departed, the Knight, seating himself at some distance from the lady, opened the conversation.

"Celestina," he said, "there has been of late a want of that frankness which characterized our intercourse at our arrival in this country, and for some time thereafter. Will you not tell me the cause?"

"Sir Christopher," replied the lady, "a suspicious mind is ofttimes deceived by its imaginations. Wherein, pray, has been a change in my conduct?"

"Nay. I know not that I can say, in this and in that thou hast not trusted me, but I feel that it is so."

"Look into thyself, Sir Christopher, and there wilt thou find the cause. The outer world is but a reflection of the inner."

"I protest, Celestina, I am not altered. Thou art to me as ever, my trusty and valued associate, bound to me by ties of peculiar significancy, and as sacred as those which commonly unite man and woman.

"It is my dearest wish that thou shouldst feel the full force of the obligation they impose on thee."

"Do I not?" Have I not labored with untiring diligence to promote the end we both have in view? Wherein have I failed? Point out the error, and I will correct it."

"I do not presume to be so bold. The masculine energy of Sir Christopher Gardiner is not to be guided by a woman."

"Alas! Celestina," said the Knight, with some feeling, "were we not joined in this holy enterprise because it was supposed the fulness of the one might supply the deficiency of the other? O, turn not away so coldly."

"My warm devotion, my active zeal, shall never be wanting to the work whereunto we are pledged; and if any feeling hath arisen inconsistent with the harmony that should unite us, I am not sensible that it springs from any fault of mine. But you exaggerate," she added, smiling, "my momentary sadness into unnecessary importance—a sadness wherewith thou mayst have no connection."

"Thou canst not deceive me, Celestina. I have profited little by the lessons of this world, and feeling was given me in vain, were I incapable of noticing the change in thee. There was a time when thy spirit, like a musical string in accord with another, vibrated in harmony with mine—but it is no longer so."

"Thou art importunate, Sir Christopher. Wilt thou not believe what I say?"

"Pardon me if I am over urgent, and ascribe it to the value I attach to my lost treasure. It sweetened the solitude of exile, and made me almost forget the attractions of stirring Europe. But thou dost not, and canst not deny my complaint."

"Is there not enough in the circumstances wherein I am placed, to agitate the timid heart of a woman, and account for her unreasonable caprices? Why persist in connecting them with thyself as the cause?"

"This is not the first time that I have vainly endeavored to discover wherein I have offended, that by the humiliation of myself, or by any other means, I might restore the unison that before existed between us. I conjure thee, Celestina," he said, approaching and taking her hand into one of his, while with the other he drew back a curtain on the wall, which, on being withdrawn, exposed to view the carved figure of Christ extended on the cross, "by the Captain of our faith, whose soldiers we are, to put away this estrangement, which if it does not defeat, may hazard and retard our mutual plans."

The lady withdrew not her hand, but allowing it to remain in his, stood up. She bowed her head before the crucifix, and murmured—Domino Jesu speravi in te. Turning then to the Knight she said—

"Sir Christopher, look upon that sorrowful face, and that drooping head, bleeding under the points of the accursed thorns. Thy sins and mine gave them their sharpness. Gaze upon the hideous nails that pierce those blessed hands and feet, and upon the blood trickling from that divine side, and say, canst thou be untrue to him?"

"Woman! Celestina! what meanest thou? Why this solemn adjuration?"

"Thou wert dedicated to a service," she continued, her pale face flushing with enthusiasm, "to which nobles and kings, the proudest and noblest of earth, might aspire. Do thy devoir, and incalculable will be thy reward; fail therein, and the doom of Judas were heaven to thy fate."

"Thou art mad, Celestina. Some dreadful delusion hath blinded thy understanding. Hear me now"—and he bent down and kissed the feet of the image of the Saviour, and then raising his head fixed his eyes upon it—"per adventum tuum, per nativitatem tuam, per baptismum et sanctum jejunium tuum, per crucem et passionem tuam, per mortem et sepulturam tuam, per sanctam resurrectionem tuam, et per admirabilem ascensionem tuam—I am guilty, truly, of weakness and ignorance, and unintentional sin, but not of want of faithfulness to that whereunto thou hast called me."

"Sir Christopher! Oh! Sir Christopher," cried the lady, falling at his feet, "Wherefore, when I besought thee before to explain thy conduct, did you treat me so slightingly? Wherefore ever refuse to satisfy my questions?"

"Because I considered them unworthy of thee and me; because I regarded them as the petulance of a passing feminine curiosity; because I knew not how serious was thy desire?

"Deus adjuva me!" sobbed the lady.

"Rise, my sister," said the Knight, assisting her to a seat. "Henceforth let no distrust exist between us, and, that it may be so, inquire, and I will answer as at the confessional."

Of the conversation which ensued we shall give no account, save that, at its conclusion, tears were flowing plentifully from the eyes of the lady, while the Knight seemed puzzled at her extraordinary emotion.

"Celestina," he said, "thou art moved beyond what thy venial fault requires. Forgive thyself as freely as I forgive thee."

"Thou knowest not all my sin," she answered, "nor dare I trust it to the air, lest my own words should strike me dead. Sancta Maria, ora pro nobis!"

When the Knight left the room, she fell upon her knees before the crucifix and buried her face in her hands. She remained in this position for perhaps a quarter of an hour, during which time only an occasional sob escaped her, and then rising, passed into an inner chamber.

As for Sir Christopher, neither did he make his appearance until late in the afternoon, when he emerged from the house in the company of the soldier Joy and the Indian, whom he called Mesandowit. The course they took was in a northerly direction, and as they proceeded, the Knight was engaged in earnest conversation with the Indian. In this manner they went on long after the sun had set, even until the position of the stars announced that the hour of midnight was at hand. There must have been some danger to the savage feared by the Knight to induce him to lend his escort thus far. But they met nothing to excite apprehension. Silence reigned throughout the unviolated forest, unbroken save by the cry of a night bird, or the stealthy step of some wild beast stealing through the thickets, or the cracking of dry branches under their own feet, or their murmured conversation. It was at least six hours since they left the house of the Knight, and the distance passed over could not be less than eighteen or twenty miles. The three stopped, and, before parting, it seemed that the Knight was desirous of impressing more strongly on the mind of his red companion something which he had already been urging.

"Has what I have said sunk into the ears of Mesandowit?" he asked.

"It has sunk very deep, even as a stone when it falls into the great salt lake."

"Will he remember the place?"

"He will remember it. Mesandowit once took two scalps there."

Self-possessed as in general was Sir Christopher, the reply startled him; but the association in the mind of the savage was too obvious to excite alarm long, and it was without feeling any he replied. He thought proper, however, to remind the Indian of the friendly relation he stood in to his tribe and of the favor he had done them.

"The Sagamore and his Paniese," he said, "who brought the defiance of the Taranteens to the English, have returned safe to their people. Let not the Taranteens forget when I come to visit them that they spoke through my mouth, and that I stood between them and the anger of sachem Winthrop."

The Taranteens never forget. Mesandowit will tell them how Soog-u-gest flew to Shawmut, when Mesandowit, of the swift foot, brought a message from the sachems of the Taranteens, that they desired him to take care of the two warriors who brought the red arrows tied up with a snake skin as a present to Owanux. The Taranteens are a great people and forget not a benefit."

"I am unable to fix the exact time;" said the Knight; "but the young moon that looks now like the eye brow of Mesandowit, will probably not be round before we shall meet again."

They parted at these words, and while Sir Christopher and Philip turned their faces homeward, the Taranteen pursued the same direction in which they had been traveling. Fatigued with the distance they had come, it was now with a more leisurely pace the two proceeded, and, walking for the most part in silence, the sun had risen before they reached home.

CHAPTER XVIII.

Ballad of Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne.

The project of Governor Winthrop of sending an embassy to the Taranteens met with general favor among his councillors. All agreed that war with the ferocious savages was, if possible, to be avoided under any circumstances, but especially now when the English must appear to the natives to be stained with the crime of a dastardly breach of faith and murder unparalleled in atrocity. The conduct of Winthrop in returning a bold defiance to their threats, was also approved, (for in treating with them, an exhibition of a want of confidence would be considered a confession of weakness, and only serve to precipitate the calamity to be avoided,) but it complicated the difficulty, if that were possible, and embarrassed any attempt at reconciliation. The Taranteens were felt to occupy a position of great advantage, and likely to attract the sympathy of the Indians generally, and even to unite tribes before hostile to one another against the perfidious Owanux. To the Taranteens no blame could be attached. They had been guilty of no breach of faith; they had acted like brave and honorable men. Even after the outrage upon them they had respected their wild code of honor, nor would commence hostilities, until like the snake, whose warning rattles they sent, they had apprised the enemy of their intention. But the challenge had been given and accepted, and a state of war initiated. Soon might their war-parties be expected to fill the forests, cutting off stragglers and attacking any bodies of men which they should deem inferior in strength to their own. Hence the danger of traveling in the woods, and especially of attempting to penetrate into that remote region, the habitation of the hostile tribe, was greatly increased. Where was the man daring enough to encounter the peril unless supported by a military force, which would give the embassy more the appearance of a foray than of a tender of peace? Such an armed band would only invite attack. Besides it was inconvenient, and indeed of the highest detriment to the colony, to take off so many able-bodied men as would be necessary for the purpose, from the cultivation of the fields, and those other industrial pursuits upon which the existence of the colonists depended, even though they should all return safe to their homes—a result by no means to be expected.

When, therefore, Winthrop suggested Sir Christopher Gardiner as a proper person, from his familiarity with the habits of the natives, and his knowledge of their language, to undertake the enterprise, it is no wonder that the proposition was favorably received. All felt it to be a service of danger; it was highly desirable that it should be attempted; no one was so well fitted for it as the Knight; and were the effort at reconciliation to terminate fatally, the loss of no one would be less regretted by several of the Assistants. For there were among them some who were no friends of the Knight, and would gladly have had him out of the colony; either not liking his intimacy with the natives, or suspicious of the circumstance, that, although he had offered to unite himself with the congregation, he had, somehow or other, never done so, either in consequence of doubts entertained respecting the soundness of his faith, or some unknown cause. This feeling was heightened by a jealousy of the favor enjoyed by the Knight with Winthrop—a favor which, some declared, warped the better judgment of the Governor. In proof of this, they pointed to the remission (at the intercession of Sir Christopher) of a part of the punishment of one Ratcliffe, who had incurred the vengeance of the law, and also of the indulgence shown to Philip Joy. At the head of these malcontents was the Assistant Spikeman—one who, by his evil propensities and incapacity to appreciate the noble sentiments of Winthrop, stood to him in a certain relation of hostility. For there is no law more prevailing than that evil hates good, compelled thereto by the very constitution of its nature. Indeed, it is evil by reason of that hatred; when that ceases, evil ceases also.

By no one was the proposal to entrust the business to Sir Christopher, if he would accept it—for the cautious Winthrop did not allude to the understanding betwixt himself and the Knight—received with more favor than by Spikeman. He was eloquent in praise of the qualifications of the proposed envoy, and derided the danger, expressing a conviction that it would be easy for him, if he chose, to restore peaceable relations. The qualification in the speech of the Assistant was noticed by Winthrop, and he intimated astonishment at the suspicion, and wonder at the willingness of one who felt it, to entrust the commission in such hands. But the artful Spikeman easily extricated himself from so slight a difficulty, alleging, as the cause of the doubt, the want of that Christian bond on the part of the Knight, without which no one could be entitled to the entire confidence due to one in full communion.

When the Assistant left the Council, he debated with himself how, if Sir Christopher accepted the service, he might join Arundel, and the soldier Joy with him. Could he succeed, he considered that he would be in a fair way to rid himself at once of three persons who interfered with his designs. The heat of his animosity was directed indeed principally against Arundel and Joy, the Knight coming in for a portion as their favorer and abettor. But in the pursuit of an object, no scruples of conscience ever interfered with the plans of Spikeman, willing to involve alike friend and foe in one common destruction, if so only his purposes could be accomplished. He calculated somewhat upon the bold temper of Arundel, and also upon his regard for the Knight, by whose side he doubted not the young man would be willing to defy any danger to which the other would expose himself.

With this view he took care, by means of his spy, Ephraim Pike, to acquaint Arundel with the honor intended for Sir Christopher. The expedition was represented by Pike as a mere party of pleasure, and as affording fine opportunities for observing the tribes in their native haunts. The good sense of the young man, and the experience he already had, taught him better than to regard it exactly in the light wherein the spy exhibited it; but, though conscious that there must be danger, in the excited condition of the Taranteens, he could not believe it to be great, else neither would Winthrop ask such exposure of life, nor would the Knight accept of the enterprise. As for what danger was to be encountered, it rather stimulated than deterred in the desire to partake of it, as the lion hunt has greater attractions for the hunter than the chase of the deer. Some words dropped from Pike about the woodcraft of Joy, and his bravery; but he dared not speak plainer for fear of betraying himself.

The information of Pike, it seems, was not without effect, for early on the morning of the following day, Arundel started for the habitation of his friend, taking with him what he considered necessary for a distant journey in the woods. The distance was passed over in a couple of hours; but, early as it was, he found that a messenger had anticipated him. This he discovered, as well from the language of the Knight, who stood in the porch of his house with a letter in his hand, as from the appearance of the man with whom he was conversing, whom Arundel perceived was one of the soldiers who ordinarily mounted guard before the door of the Governor.

"This," said the Knight, handing the letter to the messenger, "to Governor Winthrop, and a fair return to thyself."

The man took the letter, and, after making the military salute of the period, turned on his way to Boston.

"Here has come," said Sir Christopher, after the usual greetings, "a request from the Governor that I would undertake an embassy to the Taranteens, to soothe their excited minds and prevent an outbreak."

"May I inquire what is your reply?" asked Arundel.

"How canst thou doubt? Surely, where honor and good deeds invite, no true knight can turn back."

"I am to understand, then, that you have accepted the office of mediator?"

"I have accepted the trust, hoping that good may grow out thereof."

"And when is it you purpose to depart?"

"Incontinently. The matter brooks no delay."

"Then have I a petition to prefer, which, I hope, will meet with the same favor as the Governor's. Let me attend thee on this journey."

The suddenness of the request appeared to embarrass the Knight for an instant; but it was only for an instant.

"Hast thou fully considered," he asked, "the perils whereunto thou dost expose thy young life? What would be the condition of Eveline Dunning shouldst thou never return?"

"My life is not more valuable than thine, and the situation of Eveline would be no worse than that of thine own relative."

"Aye, but consider the difference in our positions. Glory, duty, summon me irresistibly; whereas, thou hast no calling other than curiosity."

"Say not so," exclaimed the young man, with feeling. "I will not deny the motive assigned; but believe me there are others, whereof you would not disapprove."

"May I know them?"

"Needs it that I should say how greatly I admire thee; how gladly I would follow in thy knightly footsteps; how any peril would be welcome, if partaken with thee?"

Sir Christopher turned away. "I did not think," he said to himself, "his affection was so great."

"Master Arundel," he replied, walking back, "I do prize thy friendship more than precious jewels; but I were untrue to that love, should I expose thee to danger. For myself, I were a recreant, and no knight, could I, because of danger, refuse to obey a call to benefit my fellow-men; but, for thee, it is a reckless and unneeded temptation of peril. Deem me not unkind, but think it is my love and anxiety that speak in your behalf."

"It is the first request I have made to thee," said Arundel, "and, if refused, it shall be the last. I shall be compelled to believe you consider me unworthy of your friendship, too effeminate to bear a walk of a few days in the forest, and unreliable in the hour of trial."

The voice of the young man trembled, and his whole manner betrayed his wounded feelings.

"Hear me, my young friend," urged the Knight; "hast thou well weighed the terrors thou wouldst seek? It is not merely death thou dost defy; but, holy Mary, holy angels, what a death! Canst thou endure to have thy tender flesh pierced with splintered sticks; thine eyes torn from the sockets; the flames greedily dashing over thy head, and licking up, as with the forked tongues of serpents, thy blood, hissing as it drops upon the glowing brands? And this for the poor satisfaction of being with me; for thou canst not afford protection, should the Indians attempt outrage. Alas! how bitterly would the sorrow of my own fate be enhanced by the consciousness of thine!"

"I have considered all these things, and they move me not. I admit the possibilities of the painting, but no more. The conduct of the Taranteens proves how high stands with them the point of honor and the sacred estimate wherein they hold an embassy; else never would they have ventured upon one like the second, after the unhappy termination of the first. I partake not of thy fears."

"Then, if not with the unthinking heat of youth, but with thoughtful deliberation, thou hast well weighed the matter, I will not deny thee, and thou shalt visit with me these savages, if Providence spares our lives to reach them. But I start this day, within a few hours; the time is short; thou canst not be ready."

"I am ready. I came prepared, anticipating all things save thine objections."

"Enter, then, my poor house, my dear young friend, and refresh thyself," said Sir Christopher, leading the way.

The persistency of Arundel having thus wrung a consent from the Knight, the subject was not again referred to by either of them; but both considering the matter settled, addressed themselves to the preparations remaining to be made. A small quantity of dried deer's flesh, and corn parched and pounded, was packed up, sufficient, as was supposed, to supply the wants of the travellers, should they be at any time unfortunate in procuring game, upon which their chief reliance rested. The guns were carefully cleaned, the locks seen to be in order, and store of bullets and powder was provided. These preparations being completed, refreshed with the noonday meal, Sir Christopher called on Arundel to follow him. An Indian was to go with them as far as it was judged safe for him to proceed into an enemy's country. The journey it was calculated would require a week to accomplish to the principal village of the Taranteens; so that, allowing an equal length of time for coming back, and the necessary delay among the Indians, a period of at least three weeks might be expected to elapse before their return. The two white men, then, habited in closely-fitting hunting garments, made of dressed deer-skin, as pliable when dry as silk, their guns slung over their shoulders, followed the Indian, dressed in native costume, with bow and quiver, and carrying the provisions, and commenced their journey.

The first two days were unmarked by any incident. Their course lay over the hills and through the valleys of the pleasant State of Massachusetts, now blooming under the hand of culture, ornamented with cities and villages, and supplying the world with the products of her joyful and free industry; then, an interminable forest, roved by fierce animals, and by red men scarcely less savage, divided into tribes sparsely scattered, living in mutual distrust, incapable of labor, supporting themselves by the uncertain issues of the chase, already daunted by the whites, and perhaps dimly descrying the fate that awaited them.

Crevecœur, in the description of his journey in Upper Pennsylvania, tells us how accurately the native sagacity of the wiser Indians could discriminate between their own characteristics and those of the white strangers, and foresee the consequences that must follow.

"Seest thou," said one of them, "that the whites subsist on grain, while we depend on flesh; that the flesh requires more than thirty moons to mature, and is often scarce; that each of those wonderful grains which they deposit in the ground gives back more than a hundredfold in return; that the meat whereon we subsist has four legs to run away, while we have only two to catch it; and that the seeds planted by the strangers remain and increase, and never run away? That is the reason why they have so many children, and live longer than we do. I say unto each one of you who will listen, that, before the cedars of our village shall die of age, and the maple-trees of the valley cease to yield sugar, that the race of the sowers of little seeds will have exterminated the race of the flesh-eaters, provided our hunters do not also resolve to sow."

Through the vast solitude, impressive by its silence and its loneliness, guiding their course by day by the position of the sun and the mosses on the trunks of the trees, and at night by the stars, the three men pursued their way. On the afternoon of the third day, the Knight, after a conversation with their guide, came to the conclusion that it was better the Aberginian should return, as they had now approached too nearly to the haunts of the Taranteens to suppose that they should long remain undiscovered. Accordingly, the Indian took his departure, leaving to the white men all the dangers of a further advance, and to find their way as best they might.

CHAPTER XIX.